Adeste Fideles
by flirtykurty
Summary: A Klaine Christmas. Four one-shots  that all connect of the Christmases Kurt and Blaine have spent apart and will spend together.
1. Christmas Past

As a present to my followers and to my reviewers, I thought I'd write out some Christmases that Kurt and Blaine have had apart and together. Over the next few days, ending on Christmas Day, I'll post a new one-shot. Enjoy!

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><p><em><strong>December 25, 2009<strong>_

Blaine always got presents delivered to his room. They were stacked in a pile just outside his door. That's the way it had always been. He'd be in the hallway, joyously marveling at his wall of brightly-wrapped gifts, running a reverent finger over the creases and carefully opening them and folding the discarded paper. When he was younger, his mother would lean against the banister in her red robe, a cup of steaming coffee in her hands, and she'd watch her son open whatever Tonka truck he had been given that year. She'd return his delighted smile whenever he'd open something that _particularly_ wonderful.

His mother hadn't watch him open gifts in years.

Sleepily, Blaine opened his bedroom door and sure enough, there was a small stacking of presents just outside. Most of them weren't wrapped; they were all obviously from Amazon, the tell-tale smile on the side of the box giving away the shipping address. A manila envelope lay on top.

He dragged the boxes into his room, closing the door with a click. He settled onto his bed, cracking his neck from side to side and set in on opening his Christmas haul, slicing open the tape with the knife his father had bought him the previous year. He hadn't wanted it, but he'd accepted it all the same.

Blaine hadn't played baseball since junior high, but there was a new Rawlings glove, the leather soft beneath his hands. He turned over the box. It was from his aunt in California, the one who invited them every summer to go to her beach house in Morro Bay. But they'd never go.

Blaine put the glove back into the packing paper and shoved it aside, slicing the next box open.

When he was finished, he was surrounded by the fits, begrudgingly bought for him by distant family members: noise-canceling headphones, a digital camera, an OSU sweatshirt, an electric shaver, and a bottle of Drakkar Noir (why? He was fifteen, where in the _world_ would he be wearing cologne?). He ran a finger underneath the lip of the manila envelope, letting its contents fall into his lap.

It was a gift card and a note printed on card stock.

Three hundred dollars to Best Buy.

He picked up the note, scrutinizing it. It had the Anderson letterhead.

"_Merry Christmas, Blaine. Your loving parents_."

The house suddenly seemed unbearably quiet and cold, and he absently rubbed his hands up and down his arms, feeling gooseflesh erupt along them.

There was a brief knock upon his door, and it creaked open.

His mother stood there, immaculately made up at nine in the morning.

"You aren't dressed yet, sweetheart? We're going to mass, then your grandmother's brunch at ten-thirty, get yourself dressed," she scolded, her voice betrayingly soft. Blaine nodded, and she closed the door, the clicks of her heels on the marble sounding throughout the frigid house.

"Merry Christmas to you too, Mom," Blaine said quietly, getting off the ground and heading into the bathroom to wash the rotten taste from his mouth.

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><p>Mass was unbearable. It always was - Church on Christmas?<p>

But the party at his grandmother's afterwards was a thousand times worse.

"You're fifteen now, aren't you, Blaine?"

Blaine nodded, his smile still upon his face. There was a building itch in his spine but he studiously ignored it.

"A fine age," said the man whose name Blaine _had_ to know, but he just _couldn't remember..._ "You have a girlfriend, son?"

Blaine felt his smile twitch minutely and he swallowed heavily.

"Not yet," he rasped, feeling his smile grow just a bit wider. The man chortled, wrapping his hand around the waist of his slinky wife with the draped neckline.

"You better play the field before you get tied down," the man said, smiling conspiratorially, and the woman rolled her eyes almost imperceptibly. The small circle around them laughed in social agreement, and that itch in Blaine's spine nagged at him once more.

"Excuse me," Blaine said quietly, nodding his way from the crowd and heading towards the bathroom. He pivoted as soon as he was out of the line of sight of the group, and he listened intently for their conversation to start up once more before breathing in relief. He rushed into the bathroom, locking the door and sitting on the side of the clawed-foot tub, the porcelain's cold bracing. His shoulders shook uncontrollably and he stared at his feet, covered in shiny black shoes that he hadn't bought for himself.

His hand curled around the cell phone in his pocket, wanting to pull it out, knowing he could end his misery by just shooting off a text. He had someone to talk to. He wasn't _completely_ alone.

But he couldn't. Instead he slid to the ground, letting himself wallow on the cool tile. He picked at a pilling on his new cashmere sweater when there was a brisk knock upon the door.

Scrambling upwards, Blaine opened it a crack.

His mother stood outside, her arms crossed over her festive red cocktail dress. "You've been in here nearly fifteen minutes, Blaine," she said, her voice nearly a whisper. "Are you not feeling well?"

A way out.

"I don't feel well at _all_," Blaine emphasized. "Complete trash, I think I caught that stomach thing Lola had. Can I go home?"

His mother sighed, extended and annoyed. She rubbed gently at the nape of her neck. "Sweetheart, I don't think so."

"I might throw up," Blaine said, raising his eyebrows. The woman looked at him irritatedly.

"You will not, Blaine," she said sharply. "You seem fine. Come back to the party, won't you?"

Blaine shifted his weight and looked down to his hands, which were sweating. He slid them across his pants to his mother's annoyance. "I -" He looked to his mother, who looked at him questioningly. "I - Do I have to?"

"Yes, you do," she replied, a bit of a smile working onto her face. "Let's go now."

She put her hand upwards, nudging him slightly, and he took her arm, escorting her back to the crowd of people, the cell phone in his pocket feeling infinitely more heavy and _there_.

He felt his father's eyes upon him the entire time, intense with accusation and expectation, but he studiously looked at the faces of his grandmother's guests, letting the women dote upon him and the men lightly criticize his lack of athleticism and a girlfriend. Blaine had let his eyes drift, for only a moment, but he regretted it as soon as he did. A flash of hazel eyes and a blur of black hair, and a hand was coming, splayed, to knock him on the back.

He spluttered indignantly as Chase grinned doggishly, his eyes nearly identical to Blaine's own. "Merry Christmas, cousin," he boomed, and the adults tittered, a few of them shaking their heads. Chase was the family favorite. No matter how outlandish his actions, _he_'d never be reprimanded.

"You too, Chase," Blaine said chokingly, and his cousin beamed at him, but his eyes narrowed. Blaine knew how the conversation was going to go from here.

"How's your girlfriend, Chase?" his mother's cousin so-and-so asked genially. "That nice girl from last Christmas. Naomi?" Chase quirked an eyebrow and shrugged.

"Didn't go so well. I'm here with Kath this year. Kath!" Chase raised a hand and waved it towards a lithe brunette girl near the sodas, and she hesitantly waved back, smiling as she picked up a diet lemon-and-lime something-or-other. He wrapped his hand around her _tiny_ hips, and she tucked herself into his side. "Naomi's old news."

"Looks like we have a real player in the family," So-and-so chuckled, and the group laughed with him. "I was just saying that I was surprised Blaine hasn't brought a lady friend to this annual bash yet at his age."

Shit.

Chase raised both eyebrows this time, a _terrible_ smirk curling onto his face. His eyes grew wide and innocent. "Why would he bring a _lady_ friend?"

Blaine shot him a panicked look, shaking his head, careful not to let any of the adults notice, but Chase paid him no mind. Neither did the guests.

"What does that mean?" What's-her-face from Blaine's father's side of the family questioned, her lips puckered. Chase gestured towards Blaine with his free hand.

"I just meant that it would be more likely for Blaine to bring a _gentleman_ friend."

The silence of the group then was stifling, and Blaine burned bright scarlet, feeling nauseous at all the eyes that were on him. "T-that's..."

"What?" Chase said loudly over Blaine, his interruption making Blaine shrink even more. "What have _you_ been saying, Blaine?"

Blaine swallowed, his throat feeling sticky and awful, and there was suddenly a delicate hand upon his arm, tugging him to the side with gentle urgency.

"Come, Blaine, the car's been brought around," his mother said lowly, an enormous smile still painted on her face like oil. Blaine all but dashed from the room, blood rushing in his ears, the entire building crashing upon him in heavy slabs of concrete accusation.

Once outside, Blaine kept running, his feet aching as the tight leather of his shoes scraped out harsh blisters. He finally let himself fall outside the high topiary, out of the eyeshot of anyone from the party or the country club.

He tugged the red tie into a looser noose and discarded his charcoal jacket beside him. He breathed hard, drawing his knees up, letting himself regain a bit of focus.

That weight was still there. He tugged the phone from his pocket and hit the only contact he had outside of Lola and his parents.

"Cooper?" he breathed into the phone. "Cooper, yeah, merry Christmas to you too. Where are you right now?"

The only other out gay kid from Blaine's school turned the corner half an hour later in his silver Corolla, letting Blaine get in beside him. Cooper didn't say a word. He pulled from the parking pool, turning onto the highway and letting Blaine's breathing return to normal.

"Do you want to talk about it?" Cooper asked hesitantly. Blaine shook his head.

"I don't even want to _think_ about it."

"Well, you know, I have to get back to my family, it's Christmas."

"Yeah, I'm sorry," Blaine apologized quickly, shaking his head. "I shouldn't have called anyways. I just... I don't _have_ anyone else."

"That's fine, you can call," Cooper said, eyes still on the road. "What are friends for?"

Blaine was silent, letting his panic quickly be overtaken by a new determination.

"Hey Coop."

"Yeah, Blaine?"

"That Sadie Hawkings dance looks like it'd be pretty fun to crash in January, don't you think?"

A tiny, slow smile wound onto Cooper's face, and he looked towards Blaine briefly. "Blaine Anderson, are you asking me out?"

"We can go as friends, right?" Blaine asked swiftly, and Cooper laughed.

"Sure, Blaine, sure."

Blaine sat back in his seat and let his head fall upon the window, his eyes following the few cars upon the road.

"Thanks," he said quietly, and Cooper hummed lightly. "You can just take me home, if that's OK."

"Sure."

When they rounded into Blaine's driveway, and Blaine began to exit the car, Cooper caught his wrist. "Wait a second, Blaine."

Blaine turned back, brows furrowed in confusion. "What?"

"I don't know what happened today," Cooper said plainly, and Blaine nodded. "Just... keep your chin up. You're a great guy, Blaine."

Blaine's face colored immediately and he shook off the initial embarrassment. "Thanks, Coop."

"I mean it," the junior asserted. "I'm going to sound like an absolute douchebag, but, you know, don't... lose yourself. Keep that courage that I know is there." Blaine nodded once more, and Cooper smiled, just a bit. "All right. Well, merry Christmas, Blaine."

Blaine chuckled at that, but it was a tired sound. "Merry Christmas, Cooper. See you in two weeks."

He watched the silver car peel from the driveway, headed to a home full of warmth and a family circled around the hearth. He jammed his hands in his pants pockets and stalked into the house, letting the heavy door slam behind him.

Merry Christmas indeed.


	2. Christmas Past  Kurt Redux

_**Disclaimer: **_It's not true, so don't sue! Forgot about this in the last chapter.

Thank you once again for all your reviews and alerts, everyone!

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><p><em><strong>December 24, 2009<strong>_

Normally Kurt would sing Martha Stewart's praises from the highest mountaintop, but this pomegranate-glazed duck breast was _not_ coming out well. The center of the meat simply refused to cook all the way through, and the fat refused to render.

Kurt groaned and pushed the breasts around once more.

"You alright, Kurt?" his father asked him, coming in as quietly as he could muster. His father was never a quiet man in his steps, though.

"Just... having a bit of trouble with the fat rendering," Kurt responded frustratedly, gesturing vaguely towards the skillet on the stove. Burt's eyebrows rose but he didn't say a word. "It's a cooking term, Dad, it's... never mind."

"You know, it's Christmas Eve," Burt reminded. "Not Christmas."

"It's my Twelve Days of Christmas Dinners, Dad, you know that," snipped Kurt right back. It was a _tradition_. Granted, this was only the second year he was doing it, but still.

"And they've been great, Kurt, I'm not knocking your cooking," Burt said, throwing his hands up defensively. "But you don't need to stress out this much over a dinner that isn't the most important one."

"They're all important, Dad."

"You barely even _eat_ any of it," Burt said, exasperated. Kurt raised an eyebrow at his father.

"You expect me to eat _eleven_ hearty dinners in a row and still fit in my Dsquared corset? _That_'ll happen." Kurt scrutinized his duck breasts once more before sighing. "I suppose they're as good as they'll get. 'Scuse me, Dad..."

Quickly putting on his oven mitts, Kurt maneuvered around his father, who quickly froze to avoid any kitchen mishaps. He placed the skillet into the oven, putting a short timer of four minutes on. "Dinner's going to be ready soon."

"How soon?" Burt asked, his voice sounding far away. Kurt looked at him strangely.

"About ten minutes. Why?"

"No reason."

Kurt narrowed his eyes at his father, trying to see if he could get his dad to give up whatever he was hiding. "Dad..." There was a jarring ring of the doorbell and Kurt's eyes widened. "Dad, no you _didn't_."

Burt shrugged guiltily, giving Kurt an unsure smile before rushing from the kitchen, chuckling beneath his breath. Kurt groaned and slammed a fist against the counter, which hurt quite a lot and made him remember to control his impulses.

"Burt! Oh, fuck, honey, you look great, merry Christmas!"

Kurt thought he could wiggle his way out of a drunken Mildred Christmas, but apparently all his wiggling was for naught. He stayed as quiet as he could so that Mildred wouldn't enter the kitchen as he was cooking. Silently he removed the skillet from the oven, transferring the duck to the counter for it to rest. He counted out two minutes before slicing it and dividing it up on the dinner plates.

He was just drizzling the rich red pomegranate glaze when Mildred came behind him, lifting him upwards and making him drop the spoon into the glaze train. "Aunt Mildred -"

She dropped him but kept her arms wrapped around him tightly. "Pretty soon I'm not going to be able to do that," she said, nuzzling his neck briefly and releasing him. "What's for dinner, kid? Oh, duck, right? I brought a _great_ sauvignon blanc, your dad's just gonna _love it_."

She knew what he was serving. His dad had _planned this_.

The nerve!

And he'd have to make two trips to bring in all the plates for dinner. Would there even be enough? Martha said there was enough to serve four, but knowing his father's appetite it probably meant there was enough to feed perhaps a half.

Burt was seated at the dinner table, a smirk tugging at his face as Mildred poured herself a glass of wine. Her hair was done up in a hastily-tied bun, strands of it falling in rivulets of dark brown around her angelic, reddened face. Her eyes were bright and excited, obviously having been bitten by the holiday bug. She patted her brother-in-law's hand as she said something in a low voice to him before turning and looking up at her host. She swirled her wine glass deftly, motioning it towards Kurt.

"This is fantastic. I wish I had a chef as good as Kurt in my house," she said, smiling at her bewildered nephew. "This will go _perfectly_ with that, Kurt, I promise you."

Carefully, Kurt set the plate of duck before his aunt and his father and returned to the kitchen to retrieve his own. When he returned, Mildred was pouring his father a glass.

"Your father's wrong, Kurt," Mildred said lowly as they began to eat, knives slicing through perfectly cooked poultry. "Eating for twelve days like it's Christmas is a perfectly _wonderful_ idea."

"That's what I said," Kurt said quietly, and Mildred raised her glass upwards, the light yellow liquid in it sloshing slightly from side to side.

"To Christmas!"

The Hummel men echoed her, Kurt putting up his glass of water to toast without paying much attention.. Mildred made a face.

"You can't toast with water, that's in bad taste. Here, sweetheart, let me pour you a taste."

"Mildred..." Burt said warningly, and Mildred waved a hand at him.

"Calm down, Burt, y'old coot. Just a sip. It's _Christmas_. Just for toasting."

Kurt widened his eyes as Mildred held his glass out to be filled by Burt, the latter groaning and rubbing the back of his bald head.

"No, that's probably not the best idea, Aunt Mildred," Kurt said as the glass was all but shoved into his hands. "I had an incident..."

"A _sip_," Mildred emphasized, and Kurt sighed, taking a small pull from the glass and swirling it in his mouth. "My corruption of you is done. Merry Christmas." They clinked glasses and Kurt drank once more, finishing the glass quickly and setting it beside him. He was right - it matched the duck perfectly.

Burt cast a knowing look at Kurt, who flushed red. He was _still_ grounded from the April Rhodes incident. He hadn't seen his hope chest since October.

Throughout the dinner, Mildred filled every silence by gobbing on and on about life in Oregon, about how _lonely_ she was all the time, and how this would be the best Christmas she'd had in years.

Kurt was pushing around the remainder of the pomegranate glaze on his plate as Mildred continued talking, her finger circling the edge of her now-empty wine glass. He stood and reached to take his maternal aunt's plate but she tapped him on the wrist. "No, hon, I'll wash." Kurt shook his head vehemently, beginning to protest, and she gave him a look with her eyebrows raised challengingly. "I need to talk to you anyways."

Burt took that as his cue to stretch a flannel-covered arm over his head and leave the room. Kurt and Mildred took the plates to the deep kitchen sink and turned on the water to wait for it to warm.

Mildred leaned against the counter, watching Kurt pull on a pair of canary yellow gloves to do the dishwashing.

"I heard it's been a big year."

Kurt froze. He didn't turn to look at his aunt as he nodded slowly, rinsing off her dish. "It has been."

"I'd like to talk to you about it."

Kurt stopped the flow of water from the faucet and finally pivoted to look at her. "About what part of it, exactly?"

"I think you know," Mildred said quietly, and Kurt pressed his lips together tightly.

"No, I don't."

"I heard about your announcement to your dad. I heard you came out, darling."

There it was. Kurt's shoulders immediately stiffened and he clenched his teeth. His fists balled at his sides, and Mildred rolled her eyes. "So _dramatic_," she bemoaned, and Kurt _hardly_ thought she was the woman to accuse him of having drama. "Sweetheart, I'm not going to chew you out for being a homo." Kurt stared at her incredulously at her term usage. "You know, when I came out..."

Kurt held up a rapid hand in front of him, palm splayed. "_Wait_ a hot second. When _you_ came out?" Mildred burst out laughing.

"Oh, that's right," she drawled, wiping the edge of her eye. "I was supposed to be the one to tell you. Never got around to doing that, did I? Kurt, honey, I'm a lesbian."

Kurt nodded, the movement thick and purposeful. He shrugged a shoulder. "Well, congratulations?" This threw Mildred into hysterics once more, and she had to support herself on the porcelain tiled corner.

"You're something else, Mr. Hummel," the woman crowed, checking him with her hip slightly. "You're something else. You're the spitting, exact image of your mother, do you know that? Inside and out."

Kurt couldn't help the grin that spread onto his face and he hurriedly looked down at the warm water filling the sink.

"Oh, there you go," she sighed finally, slapping the counter swiftly and turning to her nephew straight on. "Now, Kurt. I'm not going to come to you and lie and say that things won't be rough. They will be, Jesus _fuck_ they will be." Kurt chuckled slightly and she hip-checked him once more. "I'm being serious right now, sir, I'd appreciate an abstention from laughter. I know I'm a bit of a floozy drunk, but give me a bit of credit!"

"I'm sorry," said Kurt honestly, trying to school his face into something a bit more serious and appropriate. Mildred nodded approvingly.

"That's better." She raked a few fingers through her own hair, making substantial amounts of hair come undone from her messily-tied bun. She looked to Kurt, all the humor that had danced upon her face shortly before gone. "Things will be rough. But there are people who have been through the exact same things who will be there for you. Don't go giving up."

"I'm strong, Aunt Mildred," Kurt said defensively, and she inclined her head at him with a small smirk. The young man sighed and put his hands on his hips, and his aunt put up her hands in a gesture that he'd seen his father do a thousand times.

"I know you are."

"I was on the football team, you know."

"I wish I'd seen one of your games. Does your dad have the tapes?"

Kurt winced. "Well, I don't know, I mean... the pants, Aunt Mildred, and the _pads!_" He shuddered and Mildred clapped him lightly on the shoulder.

"Just when I thought you were breaking the stereotype," she reproved, and Kurt grinned at her. "But let's be real. I'll be here for you."

"Aunt Mildred," Kurt said slowly, and he inhaled long before talking, making sure she paid full attention. "Things have been tough. But I haven't once thought of giving up or letting them _win_. I'm going to be who I am."

Mildred exhaled sharply and Kurt only had a moment's breath before he was swept into her arms and she was holding him tightly.

"Aunt -" Kurt said into her shoulder, his hands raising tentatively onto her back.

"Let me hold you," she said, her voice intense and lacking laughter. Kurt nodded, her hair brushing the side of his face as he did so, and he let his hands splay upon her back as she embraced him.

She finally released him, sniffling faintly.

There was a peaceful silence in the kitchen, but peaceful silence doesn't occur for long around Mildred. For once, however, the silence wasn't broken by laughter or an exclamation.

Kurt's phone began to ring out "Santa Baby" quite loudly, and his face burned crimson as he dug his phone from his pocket. "It's midnight, Aunt Mildred."

"It's Christmas!" Mildred declared, throwing an arm around his shoulder. "Merry Christmas to all, and to all a good night!"

"I think you should get some sleep, Aunt Mildred," Kurt said, ducking from beneath her arm. She rolled her eyes at him.

"I don't need your judgement!" she announced, rushing from the kitchen, obviously in pursuit of her brother-in-law to frighten with deafening, holiday interjection.

He pulled the drain, letting the water out of the sink. He'd wash the dishes in the morning.

His aunt dragged his father into the kitchen, demanding eggnog, and Kurt begrudgingly poured them both a mug of the stuff before they all sat before the fire, letting Mildred recite the entirety of 'The Night Before Christmas,' which she had flawlessly memorized. Kurt's eyes were drooping by the end of it, the warmth of the fire pacifying him. He leaned back a bit more heavily against the brick mantle of the fireplace.

"I'm thinking we're sleeping in until ten," Burt grunted when she finally finished her tale. Kurt couldn't agree more.


	3. Christmas Present

This chapter was co-written by myself and my best friend, Raven, whom you may know as Blaineywainey.

I'll say it a thousand times: thanks everyone for reviewing and your alerts!

Disclaimer: It's not true, so don't sue.

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><p><em><strong>December 25, 2011<strong>_

It wasn't that Blaine didn't look forward to Christmas. It was that he dreaded it.

Last year hadn't been so bad - the King's Island Christmas Spectacular had been fun, the girl he sang with tolerable. Singing 'Baby it's Cold Outside' with Kurt pre-relationship was a bit embarrassing to look back upon, remembering just how _clueless_ he'd been, how he could have had a Christmas a thousand times better than the one he'd had. Instead he went to his grandmother's party once more, just for half an hour, because he'd had the Spectacular to get to.

It had been long enough to feel unwelcome.

Blaine was jarred awake by his alarm, sounding out an obnoxious rendition of 'Santa Baby' from the local radio station. He slammed his hand onto his clock, putting it to sleep. He sat up hastily so he wouldn't fall asleep once more. It'd happened before.

He glanced towards his door, which was closed. He knew what was just outside it: a pile of gifts. Things he never asked for, things that he'd never ask for. He ran a hand over his forehead, pushing back the curls from his forehead.

Swinging his legs over his bed, he stood, walking to the door to retrieve his gifts.

The pile was a bit more meager than last year, but that was probably to be expected. He dragged them in, piling the smaller ones in his arms and pushing the rest with his feet. In one trip, he was done, and he shut the door behind him.

A Rolex watch from his father, a fancy electric shaver from his mother (another?), a pair of socks from his grandmother, and a medley of other useless things that wouldn't have made even the top fifty of his Christmas list, had he made one. Typical Christmas haul.

Blaine outlined the plan of the day in his head. Church with immediate family, attend grandmother's annual Christmas party, come home, sit around the fire with the family in silence reading a book, awkwardly because none of them really wan to be there after the tension of the days' events.

And all of a sudden, Blaine couldn't bear to sit through it for the seventeenth time.

He stood abruptly from the bed, shoving presents back in their respective boxes and arranging them in a neat pile. As quickly as he could manage, he pulled off his pajamas and replaced them with his favorite red polo and black jeans, tying the christmas tree patterned bowtie that Rachel had actually given him as a present around his neck. He brushed his teeth quickly and gelled his hair down, grabbed his grey peacoat and car keys, and barreled out the door.

The house was quiet; it seemed that his family hadn't woken yet. Once out of his room he tried to make as little noise as possible, tip-toeing across the spacious hall and down the staircase. All was clear across the living room and the front door barely made a sound as he opened and closed it.

He didn't pause for a minute, trudging through the silent snow. He didn't think about what his parents would do once they found out he was absent from the house, or whether he would be considered rude for barging in on Kurt's family time when he showed up at his door. All he could think that he needed to be anywhere but right here and right now, in this house with this family. If he was lucky, there was still hope yet for that magical, best-time-of-the-year Christmas that everyone seemed to relish once a year.

He reached his car, wrenching open the door when a small creaking sound interrupted his focus. He glanced sideways for only a moment.

His mother was standing in the doorway of their house, clad in her red robe that she would wear when he was _so_ little, her hair on its way to perfection. She didn't move from her spot as their eyes locked. Blaine felt his breathing stop as he waited for her reaction.

Even across the distance, with the previously-perfect snow defiled by footsteps dividing them, he could see her purse her lips. Her hand rose on the edge of the door as she simply watched Blaine.

Was she angry?

But she only looked defeated.

Blaine opened his door a centimeter wider, his resolve to go to Kurt already set in stone. At the movement, his mother seemed to step forward, almost like she would fly out the door after her son.

She didn't move. Their eyes were still glued upon one another. Almost imperceptibly, she nodded, and Blaine's heart jumped in his chest. She closed the door carefully and quietly. It didn't make a noise when the door locked.

Blaine stood, shivering in the frigid December air, his hands growing ever colder on his car door as he stared at the spot his mother had once occupied. He swallowed once, took a deep breath, and threw himself into the car, shoving the key into the ignition with reignited fervor.

His mother would cover for him. What a thought that was.

The drive from Westerville to Lima was absolutely unbearable on a normal day, but on that Christmas morning, it seemed almost eternal. He drummed his thumbs on the side of the steering wheel to no beat. He couldn't listen to music right now. It'd probably remind him that he should probably _ask_ Kurt before dropping in on his family's holiday morning.

It was too late for reconsidering as he turned off the highway and onto the surface streets to Kurt's house. When he turned onto Kurt's avenue, he let the numbers blur past him as he approached number four-one-five.

He came to a stop outside the Hummel-Hudson household, breathing heavily. He unbuckled himself swiftly and rushed out of his car and up the snowy pathway to Kurt's door, ringing the doorbell and knocking on the door simultaneously.

There was a beat of Blaine waiting for someone to come, for someone to answer him, where he realized just how awful he was being. He couldn't rush in, interrupting a once-a-year family morning, where they probably all sat around being happy and loving and wonderful without an embarrassed boyfriend to deal with. But the thought was dismissed as soon as it came when the door opened to reveal his boyfriend, eyebrows raised to his hairline.

"Blaine?" Kurt asked confusedly, his bright eyes wide. Blaine opened his mouth to explain, but his words refused to form, and he exhaled shakily, looking to his feet. "Blaine, are you alright?" Blaine mumbled his reply but Kurt obviously hadn't heard him. "What?"

"Merry Christmas," Blaine repeated, louder. Kurt looked taken aback for a moment and Blaine felt that anxiety creep in again, but as always, his boyfriend surprised him with an enormous (albeit still a bit confused) smile spreading across his face.

"Merry Christmas," Kurt returned, pulling Blaine in for a warm hug. "What are you doing out there in the cold? Come in!"

Blaine couldn't help but oblige, that happy, warm feeling he always felt around Kurt already spreading everywhere, warming him up even in the frosty snow.

"Blaine," Finn leaned back from the couch, craning his neck to see who had come in. "What's up, bro?"

"Kurt," Carole leaned into the hall from the doorway of the kitchen, drying her hands on a cloth. "You didn't tell me Blaine would be visiting. It is a family day, you know."

Blaine's heart gave a guilty lurch. "I'm sorry, Carole," he said hastily, shrugging off his coat for Kurt to take. "I don't mean to intrude, I just… Christmas is always sort of dreary at home and I kind of… well…" he trailed off into a small mutter.

Carole and Kurt exchanged a small look before she came to wrap her arms protectively around Blaine.

"You are always welcome here sweetie, don't ever feel like you're intruding."

"You're around so often you might as well be family anyway," Burt's voice came from where he sat beside Finn.

"Come on," Kurt said, leading Blaine into the kitchen as Carole left to perch at Burt's side, "I made French toast."

Blaine was surprised, once in the kitchen, to see a woman fixing herself a glass of what appeared to be eggnog. She whipped around and her eyes darted to Kurt.

"Who's this hobbit?" she said, her tone teasing as she sipped on the thick beverage. Blaine furrowed his brows and looked to Kurt for an explanation, but he just rolled his eyes.

"This hobbit is my boyfriend, Blaine, Aunt Mildred," Kurt said, and 'Aunt Mildred's' eyes grew huge as she laughed out a single bark. Blaine watched confusedly as Kurt glared at his aunt. "What's that for?"

"Is this the same Blaine from last Christmas?" she asked, her voice slithery and sweet. Blaine was now completely lost. He hadn't come over last Christmas. He'd been at the Spectacular. Kurt's face was flushed scarlet.

"_Yes,_" Kurt gritted out, and Mildred had to clap a hand to her mouth to stifle her giggles. "Aunt Mildred, I'm _warning you_..."

"I won't say anything!" Mildred exclaimed, the enormous grin on her face giving her away. Kurt rolled his eyes once more (it had to hurt at this point, he did it so dramatically) and grasped at Blaine's hand and grabbed a plate of French toast to bring into the dining room. As they exited the curtain, Mildred began humming, and Blaine quickly recognized it as 'Baby It's Cold Outside.'

_Oh_. He looked incredulously at Kurt once more, who was very studiously not looking at Blaine as they sat down. He bit his lip so he wouldn't smile and have Kurt get all irritated and flustered.

Kurt passed him a small bowl of powdered sugar with a teaspoon in it, and he took it gratefully, watching Finn on the couch marvel at his obviously new paintball gun, settling it over his shoulder.

"That is the most ostentatious paintball gun I've ever seen, and I was pelted with them my freshman year," Kurt deadpanned, and Finn snorted.

"It's a combat gun, Kurt, and it's fucking awesome!" He stilled momentarily, anticipating the slap on the head that he received from his mother above him.

"Language," she scolded, sliding off the side to sit beside her husband. Burt almost reflexively put his arm around Carole, and she folded into his side. The sight made Blaine feel like he was intruding on an intensely private moment, but he knew that it was an organic reaction. He'd put his arm around Kurt every chance he could, too.

Speaking of every chance...

"How's the toast?" Kurt asked, wrapping his fingers around a mug of freshly poured coffee. Blaine nodded and didn't speak through a mouthful of the stuff. He'd always known Kurt could cook, but this was _heaven_. "Really?"

"It'sh _flawlesh_," Blaine said deliberately, making Kurt chuckle.

"Don't mind Aunt Mildred, Blaine," Burt said gruffly, waving a dismissive hand. "She can tease a lot but she always means well."

Blaine chanced a sneaky glance at Kurt, who was still blushing.

"Aunt Mildred doesn't know what she's talking about half the time," Kurt said airily.

"Why, yes, I _am_ the most beautiful lady in all of Ohio," said the woman in discussion, rejoining the family now that she had a fresh glass of eggnog in her hand. Judging by the way she stumbled slightly on her way to the fluffy armchair in the corner, Blaine was pretty sure eggnog wasn't the only substance in the drink.

"If you're going to talk about me behind my back," she continued, "Please make sure it's only wonderful things."

"There are nothing but wonderful things about you Aunt Mildred," Carole teased.

"Mm, yes, quite," said Aunt Mildred, swigging her drink deeply. "But enough about me, I want to know about Blaine," she slurred slightly.

Blaine coughed self-consciously. "There's not much to tell, really," he said modestly.

"You speak truthfully," Aunt Mildred said wisely. "I know pretty much everything about you anyway, from what Kurt has rambled on abou-"

"Hm, yes, well, that's enough," Kurt insisted, face flushing tomato red.

Blaine laughed, curling into his boyfriends' side. "You only told her wonderful things, I hope?" he said, looking up at Kurt hopefully.

"If you give my aunt enough eggnog I'm sure she'll give you the answer," Kurt answered cryptically. "Are you finished?"

Blaine shook his head and Kurt raised an eyebrow. "You want to rethink that answer? Check the plate, Blaine."

He'd all but licked it clean. He frowned and Kurt shook his head, smiling so endearingly that Blaine could have just grasped at his face and -

"You can have more, Blaine," Kurt reminded, and Blaine nodded. Kurt picked up Blaine's plate and rose from his seat, Blaine automatically following him. "Sit down, silly."

"Come over here, Blaine," Finn said distractedly. "You can get French toast later."

Blaine looked between Finn and Kurt, who shrugged and shook his head once more, grin still on his face. Blaine mirrored his shrug and walked to Finn in the living room, Kurt shortly behind him, plate still in hand.

"Stop!" Finn said suddenly, and Blaine immediately halted, making Kurt bump into him. "Alright, look up."

"Oh, geez," Burt laughed, rubbing his forehead.

Blaine looked up and sure enough, there was a sprig of mistletoe hanging from the center of the archway.

"You know the rules," Finn said seriously. "You already passed through the doorway once and I didn't say _anything_. You made me kiss Mildred!"

"And he needs work," Mildred commented, making Burt snort loudly. Carole shielded a giggle from her son when he looked at her disbelievingly.

There was a sigh beside him, and a clink of porcelain on the table behind them. "Let's do this, then," proclaimed Kurt then, and his hands were on Blaine's face and he was being pulled forward and _oh_-

Merry Christmas!

Mildred catcalled from her armchair and Carole shushed her. They pulled apart, Kurt's cheeks still a bit pink and Blaine reeling, just as he did _every_ time they kissed.

"All right, all right," Burt grumbled and Kurt's warm hands fell from the sides of Blaine's face, and why would they do that, they were such nice hands, and - "Sit down, Blaine."

Blaine sat down next to Finn, who elbowed him, grinning widely. Burt looked to his biological son, who huffed and sat gingerly beside Blaine on the ground, tucking himself next to his boyfriend.

"It's Christmas tradition time," Aunt Mildred asserted, gesturing with her glass towards her brother-in-law. Burt inclined his head towards Mildred.

"All right. Here we go," Burt said, his voice rumbling slightly. "We're gonna head around the circle, you know, like last year. Right."

"Our first Christmas together," Carole said brightly, making Burt duck his head.

"Yeah, right."

"I can start," Finn offered, and Burt nodded. He cleared his throat, and Blaine watched him closely. He opened his mouth and began to sing:

"You know Dasher, and Dancer, and Prancer, and Vixen." Blaine blanched at this line, his jaw dropping.

"Comet, and Cupid, and Donner, and Blitzen," Carole sang softly, slightly-off key. Blaine must have looked _extremely_ comical at this point. The Hudson-Hummel family sat in a circle on Christmas morning and sang Rudolph the Red-Nosed Reindeer together, with no accompaniment, just voices and eggnog and - Blaine nearly gagged at his mental voice saying it - _holiday spirit._

"-And if you ever saw it, you could even say it glows," Kurt crooned gently, bumping Blaine's shoulder.

"All of the other reindeer used to laugh and call him names," Blaine continued quietly, and Kurt's hand fell into his, a natural movement. He lay his head on Blaine's shoulder as they went around, eventually all joining in.

"Then all the reindeer loved him, as they shouted out -" (The boys bellowed, loudly singing, "with _glee_") "'-Rudolph the Red Nosed Reindeer, you'll go down in history!'"

Kurt and Finn were almost choking in their laughter by the end of it, Blaine joining them. They had sung it so _seriously_, a children's Christmas song, and ended up in hysterics, but it was perfect.

"Where'd the tradition come from?" Blaine asked once they quieted down.

"We used to do it when I was a kid," Kurt explained, accepting a small handful of mint M&M's from his stepmother. "My mom started it up. We never stopped."

"It's great," Blaine admitted, making Kurt beam.

"Let's watch the Christmas special again, shall we?" Carole said delightedly, grabbing at the DVR remote to turn on their recorded PBS show. "It was just _great_, you guys did such a good job."

"We've seen this three times through now, Carole," Kurt reminded, and she waggled her finger at him.

"It gets better every time."

"Hey, since Blaine's here, can I call Rachel?" Finn asked, looking to Burt. "She normally doesn't celebrate Christmas, right, since she celebrates Hanukkah."

Burt exhaled, ending in a chortle. "Fine. Bring her over."

Finn fist-pumped in the air excitedly and leapt from his seat, abandoning his paintball gun on the floor beside him. Blaine let his head fall on top of Kurt's as they watched themselves harmonize and dance on the television.

"Thank you," Blaine murmured, and Kurt pushed closer to him.

"You don't need to thank me," he said lowly, and Blaine let out a long breath, letting himself relax against his best friend.

When Rachel came over in a disastrous plaid fur-lined coat, she squealed excitedly and squeezed beside Kurt to watch the special, clapping whenever she appeared on screen, pointing towards it like a young child.

"This taping will be worth a lot of money someday," she declared, making all the boys snicker. She glowered at them, but it quickly melted into a pleased smile when Finn dragged her by the hand over to the mistletoe.

Kurt and Blaine snuck past the couple beaming in each other's arms, leaving the adults to their discussion and going into the kitchen.

Blaine cornered him against the counter corner and kissed him once more, smooth lips gliding across each other, warmth building inside him rapidly. Kurt stifled his groan and separated himself from Blaine, breathing in short pants. "We're in the _kitchen,_ Blaine."

Blaine shrugged a shoulder and leaned forwards once more, but Kurt put a finger to his lips. "I have a twelve-day-dinner tradition I have to uphold here. It's roast beef tonight and I haven't even preheated the oven. We'll kiss some more once the roast's in."

Sighing theatrically, Blaine shot Kurt a long-suffering look. "Haven't I been nice this year?" he questioned, and Kurt laughed, leaning in once more to chastely kiss his 'holiday roommate.'

"For most of it," Kurt allowed, and Blaine chuckled under his breath. "I'll forgive you for the whole not-coming-to-your-senses-until-March thing in the spirit of Christmas."

"I wasn't forgiven until now?" Blaine asked, tone surprised. Kurt shot him a look, and opened his mouth but Blaine quickly covered it with his own, tangling his fingers in the hair at the base of Kurt's neck. Kurt shook his head, giggling into their kiss and separated again.

"Blaine, come _on_..."

"All right, OK," Blaine acquiesced, taking a step back and immediately missing Kurt's warmth. Kurt sighed and patted his hair lightly into place.

"As I said, after the roast's in," Kurt admonished. Blaine held out his hands innocently, tracing a halo over his head. Kurt's expression melted into a fond smile, and he turned to the refrigerator to remove a large roast. Blaine leaned against the counter and watched Kurt work, occasionally helping out by helping him peel and halve potatoes.

"I'm going to roast it for an hour, but I have to bast it occasionally -" Kurt began, closing the oven door when he placed the roast beef inside but he was silenced by Blaine racing to him and pressing themselves together once more. Kurt obviously forgot what he was saying, and Blaine smirked into Kurt's lips. Kurt took initiative and deepened the kiss, pulling at Blaine's lower lip. Blaine smoothly gave Kurt's tongue entrance, and they battled for dominance, getting lost in each other over the counter in Kurt's kitchen.

"Merry fucking Christmas!"

They skittered apart instantly, the separation making a loud, almost obscene _smack_. Mildred looked at them good-humoredly as she held up her glass and shook it slightly.

"Just getting a refill, kids, don't you mind me."

"You have the carton," Kurt said breathlessly, clutching with both hands at the counter behind him, his expression irritated.

"I'm also checking on you two," Mildred said lightly, winking at Blaine. He felt his face heat rapidly. "Be good."

She left the kitchen hurriedly and they exhaled simultaneously, catching each other's eye and laughing.

"Well, that's that," Kurt said, and Blaine shook his head, putting his weight against the counter once more. "Oh, wait."

Kurt pulled a dining chair into the kitchen and placed it against the counter. Blaine sat on it gratefully, expecting Kurt to get a chair of his own, but Kurt plopped himself onto Blaine's lap.

"Dear Santa," Kurt trilled, throwing an arm over Blaine's shoulders, making Blaine crack up but he continued listening. "For Christmas, I'd like you to bring me a good, nice, handsome man."

"That's a tall order."

"No, he doesn't have to be tall," Kurt teased, and Blaine rolled his eyes at the oft-used joke. "He just has to love me."

"You already have a man like that," Blaine responded and Kurt embraced him tightly, the positioning slightly awkward but lovely.

"Well, then," Kurt said into his hair, and Blaine barked out a laugh. "I guess I don't need anything else for Christmas then."

* * *

><p>The roast turned out perfect. Rachel had protested, asking about what <em>she<em> was going to eat as a proud vegan, but Kurt had brought out the platter of potatoes and she'd silenced.

"Merry Christmas, all!" Burt said, bringing his glass of white wine up for a toast, and everyone copied him, raising their glasses as well. "To a bunch more of them."

"To Congressman Hummel!" Kurt exclaimed, and the entire table echoed him.

They all drank deeply and started in on Kurt's roast beef. Blaine _may_ have overdone it with the orgasmic eating noises, but they made Kurt blush and futz his words around so it was completely worth it.

* * *

><p>They sat around the roaring fire in the fireplace that Burt had set up after several attempts. The adults sat around the dining room table, finishing off a bottle of wine. Finn was attempting to explain to Rachel how to play Call of Duty, but she kept wanting to run to the corners of the map to 'test its boundaries' instead of attempting a knifing or bludgeoning or shooting of Finn's character.<p>

Kurt was messing with his new speakers, on which he had docked his iPod. Blaine sat next to him, thumb rubbing circles into Kurt's hip as he held his boyfriend to him.

He stared at the fire for a bit, letting the final tension from his shoulders melt. His father wasn't going to burst into the Hummel household and demand he attend his grandmother's party. Chase wouldn't be cackling at his expense.

There was nothing unexpected, nothing cold, and nothing dark about this Christmas.

Kurt settled on a Regina Spektor song that Blaine hadn't heard before ("Does that surprise me? No, it doesn't, Mr. Top 40," Kurt had replied when Blaine told him so). He wrapped his arm around Blaine as well and hugged them closely together.

"Merry Christmas, Blaine," Kurt said quietly, and squeezed his side.

Merry Christmas indeed.


	4. Christmas Future

Merry Christmas, everyone! Thank you for all of your follows, alerts and reviews. They really do mean the world to me.

Disclaimer: Once again, it's not true, so don't sue.

* * *

><p><strong><em>December 24th, 2012<em>**

The calendar over his desk was covered in red Sharpie marks. He'd been counting the days since late November, and since last Thursday, he'd been counting the hours. And it was finally Christmas Eve.

Blaine Anderson certainly enjoyed Christmas (if only because of how Christmas had proceeded the last year at his boyfriend's house), but it wasn't the reason for his anxious counting. Said boyfriend would be coming home on Christmas Eve.

The day that Kurt told him he wouldn't be returning to Ohio until the 24th had been a difficult one. NYADA had a rigorous schedule, and Kurt's acting and dance finals were on the 23rd (a ruthless choice of scheduling). Kurt said he'd take the first place on Christmas Eve to come home, that Blaine would be the first person he'd see.

Blaine was ignoring the calendar over his desk now, folded in on himself on his bed, sitting with his knees tucked beneath him. He sighed shakily, unhappily, because he knew that he wouldn't be able to greet Kurt at the airport. He wouldn't be able to have that moment of rushing into Kurt's arms and acting as though he'd _never let go_ and he hadn't seen Kurt in months and _fuck_, why did Kurt's plane have to be so delayed? Damn _snow_.

It had been snowing fairly hard during the entirety of Blaine's winter break. The power had gone out twice, only to return an hour later. It only evolved into a full-scale blizzard over the weekend. And what a weekend it was.

At Tina's 'End-of-the-World' party on the 21st, there had been an enormous amount of alcohol and teenage irresponsibility. Mike had come home from Juilliard and the couple had been inseparable, leaving Artie and Blaine to sit in the corner with the rest of the new Glee kids, who were _sophomores_ and mostly just staring in awe at them.

By the third wine cooler, Blaine was spilling his guts and whining to Artie about how _unfair_ it was for Kurt to be so far from him. He didn't get a lot of sympathy, but Artie did show him how to unhook a brassiere with one hand. Blaine didn't have the heart to point out that it wouldn't do him much good to have that knowledge.

His phone buzzed in his hand then, and he hurriedly flicked open the lock pattern and checked his text messages.

"_Flight has been delayed ANOTHER two hours!_"

There were a lot of expletives after that, making Blaine smirk a bit. Kurt had never been one to swear, but New York had fixed that up right quick. He sent off a text saying that he loved Kurt no matter when he had to see him, but inside he was _dying_.

He scooped up his phone once more and held it to his chest. He flopped backwards onto the bed, the springs of it squeaking in protest.

The last summer he and Kurt had spent together was mostly composed of them taking hundreds, thousands, millions of pictures. They were pinned in a menagerie of collages around his room, but his favorite was the one on the ceiling.

They'd begged their parents for almost all of June to let them go to the beach for a weekend, and by July, Blaine's parents had finally relented. They'd loaded up the car and drove for two hours to Maumee Bay, blasting out Pink and Katy Perry. They relaxed on the beach and let themselves get lost in one another.

His favorite picture was the one they'd gotten a tourist to take of them. Blaine's arm was over Kurt's shoulder and the grins on their face were enormous and infectious. Kurt was absolutely _slathered_ in sunscreen, with plastered cheeks as white as snow, and Blaine's face was reddening but so happy. It was a warm picture.

Blaine reached for the blanket at the bottom of his bed, tossing it over his shoulders. It seemed like tonight would be a night for reminiscing.

He glanced at the bright digital clock on the dresser, which screamed to him that it was nearing eleven. He ground his teeth together to stave off his frustration, but stopped when he remembered Kurt's advice against worn teeth.

There was a creaking of his door and he looked up towards it. His mother had her hand on the doorknob with a concerned look on her face.

"Are you going to bed soon, sweetheart?" she asked, pulling her robe more tightly around her. Blaine looked to his phone once more, but it hadn't lit up with a notification yet.

"I'll go to sleep as soon as Kurt gets on his plane," Blaine said quietly. His mother nodded, but she didn't really _understand. _She shifted her weight onto her other foot.

"Well, try to sleep _soon_, honey, it's Christmas Eve," she reminded, her voice gentile and reproachful. Blaine looked back at her, a faint smile on his face.

"I know, Mom."

"OK. Good night, Blaine."

"Night."

She closed the door, the sound of it fitting into the jamb nearly silent. He didn't hear her move down the hall for a minute. He felt guilt wash over him. Since he'd been dating Kurt, he hadn't paid nearly enough attention to his family, choosing to spend as much time as possible with the Hummels. He supposed it wasn't really his fault; he couldn't bear the barely-hidden stares of accusation and misunderstanding shot his way over the dinner table, the awkward silences and the stilted conversations.

He checked his phone once more, but there was no second text from Kurt. Sighing deeply, he dropped it back onto his bedspread and let himself drift on the edge of consciousness.

He'd known that when Kurt would go to NYADA, he'd be miserable. They'd avoided the subject until the end of the summer, when their touches became a little more desperate and a little _more_ in general.

But he hadn't been prepared for how lonely his year would become.

Each week was absolute torture without Kurt. The members of the Glee club were nice, but the ones he had really bonded with - Sam, Finn, _Kurt_ - were gone. No matter how funny Tina was or how snarky Artie was, it wasn't the same.

He'd gotten slushied for the first time on the first day of school. He'd called Kurt, who listened sympathetically while he raged on the phone. He'd gone to work out his frustrations on the bag later, later opting for a bit of shadow boxing, but he only wanted to land punches on the faces of the members of the hockey team.

He hadn't been prepared for how _angry_ his year would become.

But every night, Kurt would call him on Skype, and seeing his boyfriend's face light up when he talked about his classes or how he'd landed a note or how he was going to audition for a _real Broadway musical_ made all of it almost worth it. Almost.

He'd be with Kurt tomorrow. They'd be together all week. Then it'd be a long four months until he'd see him in the flesh again.

Two hundred and forty days until he'd live with Kurt in New York. Whenever he was frustrated, he'd repeat the number underneath his breath and everything would seem a fraction better. He'd put on a show smile and perform another bland solo for the Glee club, letting the newest Rachel Berry stare at him with blatant adoration that he'd always reject. He'd accept praise from Mr. Schue, excuse himself hastily to call Kurt for the third time that day. He'd sit with Artie at lunch though he'd rather be six hundred miles away, sitting with another brown-haired man.

Blaine's eyes flew open when his phone began to chime loudly, jarring him from sleep. He swore loudly, rubbing at his eyes to see the digital clock telling him it was 1:30 in the morning.

Remembering his still-chiming phone, Blaine fumbled with it for a moment before sliding the tab to accept the call.

"Hello?" he said, his voice slurring embarrassingly from sleep. He cleared his throat and repeated the greeting.

"You're still awake, then."

All sleep was shaken from him at Kurt's voice. He cradled the phone a bit closer to his ear and nodded, though Kurt couldn't see it.

"Of course I am. I said I'd stay awake until you boarded." Kurt hummed at that, and Blaine chuckled slightly under his breath. "What's up?"

"There's something about that," Kurt said vaguely, and Blaine felt himself chill in the already-cool air.

"Were you delayed again?"

"No, nothing like that," Kurt assured quickly. "I simply need a favor from you."

"Anything," Blaine said, his response perhaps a bit too instinctual. He heard Kurt laugh a bit over the phone, and the sound make him simmer with warmth.

"Could you go outside your house right now?"

Blaine made a face, brow furrowing in confusion. "Kurt, it's snowing."

"Just do it, Blaine, you won't regret it."

Sighing, Blaine stood from his bed, rolling his shoulder. A cacophony of cracks sounded from it and he winced before relaxing. "Alright, I'm going."

"Good," said Kurt, his tone smug, and Blaine rolled his eyes as he slipped on his loafers. He kept the phone pressed to his ear as he moved swiftly down the rounded staircase to his front door, his steps magnified as echoes throughout his marble-plastered house.

"I don't know why you want me to-" he began, but he stopped in his words, eyes widening at the boy on his doorstep. Kurt Hummel stood in the alcove of his front door, eyes a brilliant, shining blue with that scarf Blaine bought him for his birthday tied tightly around his neck. His hand still held his iPhone to his ear, and he rocked on his heels a bit nervously.

"I may have told a bit of a white lie," Kurt said into his phone, pulling it away from him and pressing the 'end call' button. He smirked at his boyfriend, whose face must have looked _completely_ ridiculous with how flabbergasted he was. "Well, it's nice to see you too."

Blaine rushed forward, wrapping his arms around Kurt tightly, and Kurt giggled into his shoulder, letting his arms fall around Blaine's waist.

"You're here. How are you _here_?" Blaine asked incredulously, his voice muffled by Kurt's neck. He pressed himself closer to Kurt's warmth, breathing in his scent deeply. God, he'd _missed_ him, he'd been so _lonely_ without him.

"My flight may or may not have never been delayed," Kurt said, making Blaine embrace him a bit tighter. "I just wanted to surprise you. The drive from TOL to Westerville was a bit longer in the snow."

"You're here," Blaine repeated, and Kurt scoffed lightly, and pulled back slightly.

"I'm here," Kurt whispered against Blaine's lips and suddenly he was _there_. His cheek were cold against Blaine's nose but his lips were _warm_ and Blaine wished this moment could last forever but unfortunately, oxygen is a necessity for most human beings. "God, Kurt."

"Merry Christmas, Blaine," said Kurt, his voice slightly ragged and still so quiet. Blaine surged forwards once more, letting their lips more slam than brush together, and he smiled widely against his boyfriend's mouth. Kurt began laughing uncontrollably as Blaine lay a thousand kisses again and again upon him.

"It certainly is!" Blaine exclaimed, holding the sides of Kurt's head tightly.

"My dad's in the car," Kurt murmured, still smiling, and Blaine looked behind him, horrified. Sure enough, Burt was in the front seat of Kurt's Navigator, grinning and waving a bit awkwardly. Blaine immediately colored, and Kurt laughed. "Oh, please, he doesn't care."

"I sure do," Blaine said quietly, letting his hands fall from Kurt's face. Kurt immediately took Blaine's hand in his.

"I'll see you in a few hours," he promised, and Blaine nodded. Kurt leaned in for a final kiss that lasted a little longer than was probably necessary. Burt honked the horn, making both of them pull away, cheeks flushed, smiles wide, eyes bright.

"A few hours," Blaine echoed, and Kurt grinned a bit wider and squeezed his hand before letting go and running through the snow to his family, waiting patiently in the car.

That was right. He'd see Kurt again in a few hours, they'd be together for a few hours, they'd separate and he'd see Kurt _again_, and the idea of seeing his boyfriend over and over and _over again_ made the grin on his face almost painful. Almost.


End file.
